


Love Me Tonight (We Might Not Have Tomorrow)

by sarcastic_fina



Series: Shield of My Heart [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (2011)
Genre: F/M, Post-Thor, Smut, a lot of bonding over music, and sexy, coulson is flawless, darcy is already falling for her favorite agent, pre-avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reality that they would eventually have to return to work, to Portland, doesn't stop them from trying to be happy together, even for a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Me Tonight (We Might Not Have Tomorrow)

** **

It started with rain and only got better with cowboy boots.

The first stirrings of love, the quick staccato of her heartbeat spelling out something deeper than just attraction, was kicked into action by footwear. What did that say about her, she wondered.

He picked her up for their date with a sharp rap of his knuckles against the door of the trailer. She was still zipping up her leather boots and checking her hair in the mirror, wanting it to look attractively tousled and thinking it probably looked more or less frizzy from the heat, when she heard it. Cursing under her breath, she yanked up the zipper, shoved down the leg of her jeans, took a deep, calming breath, and finally swung the door open.

She grinned at him. "Well if it isn't my favorite agent," she said in greeting.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "We saw each other less than two hours ago when I walked you from the lab to exactly here," he reminded, before checking his wrist watch. "I even gave you five extra minutes."

Darcy rolled her eyes. "I like the eager beaver routine," she told him, walking out the door and climbing down the wood stairs to stand next to him. "You look different…" Her brow furrowed before she leaned back and took a good look at him, blinking as she realized he wasn't wearing a suit.

He was still in muted colors, but he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans; she followed the lengths of his denim clad legs to— Her eyes widened. "Are those cowboy boots?"

He snapped the scuffed, dark brown tips together in answer.

Her head cocked before her eyes popped up to stare at him in surprise. "I don't know why I'm shocked…" Her lips curled up in a smirk. "Undercover mission as a honky-tonk regular?"

Coulson's mouth twitched. "Authenticity is important." He held a hand out to her. "Promenade, Miss Lewis?"

She laughed, reaching under his arm to take his opposite hand before gripping his free-hand in the proper dance formation. "Lead on!"

She knew they looked ridiculous; she was pretty sure a few people were staring as they made their way through the town. Coulson didn't show any sign of discomfort; in fact, he gave her a sidelong look that she deduced was less sexual interest and more genuine affection. Darcy patted herself on the back for being the reason he was loosening up in any way.

The bar wasn't too packed; Puente Antiguo was a pretty sleepy town, especially after the Thor v. Destroyer incident. The pool tables were full up and the bar itself was sparsely filled, leaving a little more than half the stools against it open. The old jukebox was crooning Conway Twitty's Slow Hand.

As the song hit her favorite part—

 _You want a man with a slow hand, you want a lover with an easy touch_  
_You want somebody who will spend some time_  
_Not come and go in a heated rush_  
_Baby, believe me, I understand, when it comes to love_  
_You want a slow hand…_

—Coulson spun Darcy out of their promenade, his hand smoothing over her waist and squeezing her hip.

She laughed as she came to a stop, leaned into him, her smile so wide it nearly hurt.

"Randy's got Jane tonight?" she asked as he led her toward the bar, their fingers still knotted together.

"He's trying to make up for falling asleep on the job last night," he told her simply, taking a seat on a stool and resting his foot on the bottom rung of hers as she swung around, clapping her hands against the bar top a few times.

The bartender nodded his head to tell them he'd be with them in a second and Darcy rested her chin on her fist, turning her attention back to her agent and looking him up and down.

He watched her watching him, his lips curling faintly at the corners. "What?"

She shrugged. "I like this casual look on you." She reached across and circled the collar of his shirt with her finger before letting her hand drag down his chest. "If I didn't see you stripped down last night, I'd think the suit was a second skin." She winked.

He licked his lips, eyebrow arched. "I can appreciate a good suit," he told her. "But I do own regular clothes too." He smiled slowly. "Occasionally I have days off."

"See, if this goes the way I want it to, your days off won't involve suits  _or_ casual clothes." She smirked. "I'm a big fan of naked weekends."

He chuckled lowly, a deep sound that emanated from his chest. "I don't imagine Dr. Foster appreciates your enthusiasm…"

She flashed her eyebrows. "What happens in the trailer stays in the trailer."

He paused, his eyes widening a fraction and flitting away as he turned the idea over in his mind.

She laughed, her head falling back. "I could actually the scene playing out in your head…"

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I'm almost sure you didn't…"

She leaned toward him, taking the challenge as she saw it. "You're too classy for the overdone pillow-fight fantasy," she told him decisively. "I bet it started out as a fight though, because, really, there's a love-hate kind of thing going on there, I can admit that."

"Authenticity," he said with a slow nod.

"Maybe I used something or hers and tried to pretend I didn't break it. Maybe I ate all the cereal and put the empty box back in the cupboard... Jane snapped, got in my face. There was yelling and arguing and frustration until suddenly—suddenly it was just too much…" She watched his face, grinning. "And then clothes were being stripped off—"

"Your shirt tears. She's stronger than she looks."

"Appreciate the enthusiasm," she told him, amused. "And we're angry kissing against the wall, pushing and pulling, hands in each others hair."

"You like the bite when she pulls it a little… She's rough. Her teeth against your collar bones…" He reached over, dragged his fingers over them. "It hurts in a good way."

She swallowed tightly, partly from the image he was painting and partly because in her head it had changed from absent-minded Jane to him. Him pushing her against the wall, his leg between her thighs, his hands gripping and moving, squeezing, sliding, blunt nails digging into her skin.

"I take control," she said. "I reverse our positions…" She pressed a hand against his chest just hard enough to give him an idea. "Pin her against the wall, make her hold her hands above her head." She wags a finger, the back and forth sliding against his chest. "She doesn't get to touch until I tell her to."

"She doesn't like that rule." His fingers slid up her neck, his thumb grazing her spiking pulse. "She fights you on it, tries to show that you  _want_ her hands on you…"

"But I'm stubborn and she likes it more than she expected…" She smoothed her hand up. "So she stands there, panting, squirming, wanting to touch but not. She just bites her lip as I drag my mouth over her body, slowly; I want to taste everything. I want to make her wait, make her want it just as much."

His jaw flexes and that flash of dark heat had filled his eyes again. "She lets you, but only until you're sure you've got complete control, and then she takes it  _back_ —"

Two beers clanked down on the bar, drawing their attention.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. "You haven't paid off your last tab, Darcy," he reminded.

It took her a second to blink away the fog of what was happening between her and Coulson to focus on what was going on outside of them.

She offered a shaky smile, feeling a little dazed. "Uh, sorry Mark, haven't been allowed to play much lately…" She reached for the cash she'd tucked in her jeans pocket, but Coulson stilled her.

"I'll pay it off at the end of the night," he said, staring directly at Mark.

He shrugged. "Whatever. Long as we're squared up."

Coulson nodded and then pointed at the beers. "Keep them coming."

He saluted before getting distracted by another customer and walking away.

"You don't have to do that," Darcy assured, sitting back on her stool. "Seriously, my tab's not like crazy large or anything, but still… I can pay my own way."

"We'll put it on SHIELD's dime," he assured. "Consider it an apology for the frustration they've caused.

"And here I thought they just sent you out to make me feel all warm and fuzzy," she joked.

He unscrewed the cap of his beer and gave her a half-smirk. "I'm afraid SHIELD hasn't approved this date…" He tipped his beer and knocked the neck against hers. "A purely recreational outing."

She grinned, taking up her own beer and using the edge of the bar to pop the top off. She guzzled back a long drag before dropping the bottle back to the counter and trying to shake off the lingering effect of their shared fantasy that, she was pretty sure, Jane wouldn't have liked being involved in. Even if Darcy had long replaced anything fantasy-Jane was doing with Coulson.

Her eyes turned to the side as she noticed the jukebox turning over to another song. She waited, listening hard, going over the selection in her head, trying to figure out what might pop up next. She'd spent more than a few afternoons and nights listening to old country songs and either playing pool or taking the edge off with a cold beer.

She grinned as the familiar tune picked up.

 _When the truth is found…_  
_To be lies,_  
_And all the joy_  
_Within you dies…_

Coulson's head cocked. "Jefferson Airplane?"

Darcy nodded, tugging on her earlobe out of habit as she rocked side to side, foot bouncing. " _Don't you want somebody to love_?" She pressed a hand to her chest dramatically. " _Don't you need somebody to love_?"

He surprised her when he sang, " _Wouldn't you love somebody to love_?"

She met his eyes as they both finished it off, " _You better find somebody to love_ …"

She grinned at him as the song continued on without them, background music now. "You keep surprising me."

"A habit of the job," he told her with a faint shrug.

"It's a good thing," she assured, staring at him thoughtfully. "Eventually I don't want to be surprised though… I want to crack the Coulson code, figure you all out... See what makes you tick."

"Will you put be back together after?"

She shrugged. "We'll see what the damage is like, Humpty."

His lips twitched; he licked them, dropping his eyes for a moment. "You know, things are a lot less put together outside of the suit…" He raised an eyebrow. "The shine wears off."

She reached across and tugged at the collar of his loose shirt. "I'm liking it so far."

His fingers circled her wrist, traced the delicate bones there, and then dragged down the underside of her forearm, making goosebumps flash over her skin. "It's easier to be Coulson, first name Agent, with people I don't know… Easy to become what I need to in order to get the job done the right way…" He let the edge of his thumb slide along her inner-elbow; she bit her lip at the tickling sensation. "But when it comes to something  _I_ want…" His cheek ticked. "Lines blur, become undefined… It's difficult to be with someone who's in and out and can't exactly share the details of their day…"

"I ate a suspect chimichanga from 7-Eleven at lunch, argued with Jane to eat something other than Pop-Tarts, bugged Randy with spit-balls, filed some stuff, and mentally counted down the minutes leading up to this date..."

She raised an eyebrow. "I know your day was way more badass; or it usually is, when you're not stuck out in the desert, playing babysitter for a twitchy astrophysicist that's possibly only trying to recreate the rainbow bridge to get her hunka-hunka back and a whiny college student that's bitching about going home more than Dorothy lost in Oz…"

She shrugged. "You say 'Classified' and I'm not going to poke the bear," she assured, but then turned her eyes to the side. "Actually, I might poke the bear to see if he's willing to share some honey, 'cause curiosity might've killed the cat but at least she died informed. Still, if you don't want to talk work, we don't have to talk work… We should have more to talk about then who ganked who with what and who might've possibly destroyed someone's scienc-y whats-it."

Coulson grinned slowly. "You broke one of Jane's machines?"

"Hey!" She pointed at him. "That's on the blacklist of what I wanna talk about while on this date."

He nodded, putting on his blank agent face. "Duly noted."

Darcy took another sip of her beer and then reached out with her foot and kicked him lightly in the shin. "Musical tastes, Agent. CCR, yay or nay."

He smiled at her. "Yay. Absolutely."

"Rapid fire, three of their best songs." She pointed at him. "Go."

"Hello Mary Lou; Up Around the Bend; Have You Ever Seen The Rain?"

Her head quirked, not so much at the song choices as the order he put them in. The tilt of his mouth said it was on purpose. "Not bad," she told him.

He bowed his head in acceptance. "Van Morrison; rapid fire."

And so it went; they spent the next hour arguing song choices, band choices, bad  _hair_ choices depending on the year.

"Please tell me you didn't do the rocked out, teased up, hair-sprayed look back in the 70's..." Her nose wrinkled with distaste.

Coulson cleared his throat, turned his eyes away, and said, "That's classified information, Miss Lewis."

She laughed abruptly, her head falling back. "Oh my God!  _Pictures!"_ she demanded, squeezing his hand, which somewhere between discussing Queen and Dusty Springfield had come to rest on her thigh, occasionally drawing shapes.

He shook his head. "If there were any, they've been properly destroyed," he assured, smiling.

She ran her nails up and down his wrist. "I bet there's one out there…"

His lips pursed. "Possibly one…" He shrugged. "Sentimentality's sake."

She smirked slowly. "You'll let me see it one day," she declared.

He stared at her, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Maybe."

Darcy took that as a promise that one day he would share things were not even he expected to share.

She stood from her stool and dragged him onto the dance floor when Looking Glass' Brandy (You're A Fine Girl) started playing. There was a lot of her rocking her hips side to side and raising his arms above her head so she could dance under them. She pulled him close by his fingers and wrapped his arms around her waist while hers circled his neck; she used her body to guide him, move him, making him sway side to side, learning the way her hips rotated.

Halfway through the song, his hands found her hips, squeezing; she swore she could feel every whorl of his fingerprints against her skin. His thumbs made their way under the edge of her shirt and slid up,  _up_ , teasing. His fingers stretched, skimming the small of her back.

The song was sad; lost love. A woman pining for a man who chose the sea, chose his job, over her.

She loved and hated it. The symbolism, the meaning behind it, the idea that before they'd even started, they were both so aware that it would end. She would return home, to Portland, to her cello, her first love, and this, whatever this was, whatever it grew to be, would fade away in her mind, added to a collection of memories, occasionally brought out to look back on with fondness or regret.

Closing her eyes, she focused on the here and now. On warm hands, calloused palms, deft fingers lightly tracing.

 _Brandy, you've a fine girl,_  
_What a good wife you would be_  
_But my life, my love and my lady is the sea..._

"You know who's probably missing you right now?" she asked, looking up at him as the music faded away. She was leaned into him, her hands settling on the curves of his shoulders. With a smirk, she told him, " _Bertha_."

It took him a moment, as if he was searching his mental catalogue of names, before finally she the saw the light bulb switch on. Back at the trailer was her faithful couch, Bertha, of which they had some fond memories of last night that she very much wanted to repeat, and see if they might create a new high score of awesomeness between them.

He tugged her in close, until their hips bumped, and then nodded. His arm embraced her waist as he turned her around to face the bar, digging his wallet out of his jeans as they walked. She was tracing the stitching around the collar of his shirt with her finger while he paid off her tab, plus the drinks they'd shared that night, and then they were leaving, walking out of the bar as Eric Clapton's After Midnight queued up.

Their hips bumped as they walked, but she wasn't willing to unravel them even for the short walk to the trailers. She drummed her fingers over his ribs, to the beat of a song stuck in her head.

The lights were on at the lab when they walked by and she sent a silent hope up that Jane was taking care of herself, before she and Coulson turned off toward the trailer, where her favorite wind chimes were knocking together to create a sweet tune.

She let go of him only to climb the two stairs leading into her trailer, but as she dragged the screen door open and propped it with her knee, she found him with his hands tucked in his pockets, brow furrowed, eyes set on the dark distance.

For a moment, she worried he might be regretting this before it had a real chance to begin. It wouldn't exactly surprise her; they both knew it was headed for failure. But they were under silent agreement to part on good terms, she thought. In the future, whenever SHIELD gave her the A-OK to get out of Dodge. Right now, they had a chance to enjoy each other, outside of the labels and the frustration of life not turning out the way as planned. And she wanted that, might even  _need_ that. Something all hers, something to add a little joy and freedom to her current life. And she had her sights set on this man and no other.

"Don't second guess yourself now, Agent," she told him, gripping his shirt loosely in her fingers and giving him a tug to bring him closer. "Doesn't that kind of behavior have pretty big consequences in your line of work? Time's an issue here, remember; who knows when Jane will suddenly realize her bed is more comfortable than her desk?!"

His mouth turned up on one side before he took a step forwarad and climbed the first stair, bringing his face level with hers. "Who said anything about second-guessing?" He reached for her, tucking her hair behind her ear, tracing her cheek with his thumb. "I was told Bertha was waiting on me…"

She grinned, relief filling her swiftly, before turning around and stepping inside. She plopped down on the couch and leaned down to unzip her leather boots, tossing them carelessly toward the shoe pile by the door.

As the screen door squeaked and snapped closed behind him, Coulson paused to carefully take his boots off, lining them up side by side, looking neat and perfect compared to hers. She stared down at the cracked, worn brown leather of his boots and her smile widened. "Authenticity?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Or secret cowboy with a love for the Wild, Wild West?"

He circled the coffee table to sit down next to her. "They're comfortable," he said, not even defensively, just a simple statement of fact.

She stared at him a long moment. "You've got layers."

His eyebrow ticked. "Ogre's not the worst thing I've been compared to."

She laughed a snort before turning, throwing her leg over his lap and sliding right into it. His hands settled on her waist. "Maybe I was calling you an onion."

Peeling him could lead to tears on her part, she thought idly.

Shaking her head, she leaned toward him, sliding her hands up his chest. "Guess who's not sleepy?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

He chuckled lowly. "On our first date?" He slid his hands under her shirt. "You must think so little of me…"

"Mm…" she hummed, pressing her hips down as his fingers walked up her spine. "I'm thinking really, really good things about you…" She dropped her face closer and nipped at his lip. The faint taste of beer met her as she let her tongue drag across his own and flick the back of his teeth, underneath was that heat she remembered from the night before, something purely his own.

There was something very heady about being with him this way; something about the lack of rules that went along with teasing and tasting and feeling him in ways that she wouldn't imagine would fit the overly stiff and formal man in the suit. She liked watching his face as barriers slid away; as he didn't fight the furrow of his brows and let loose those little gasps as she ground down against him.

Her shirt was stripped off and tossed away; his hands moved all over her back, dipping along the curves of her shoulder blades, tracing the arch of her spine, teasing his fingers just under the top of her jeans, curling around the edge of her thong before skimming away. He grinned against her mouth when she growled disapprovingly, wanting more, more, more.

Sometimes she thought that was a family trait; one that hadn't worked well in her mother's case. But here, in this instant, with  _him_ , she thought she deserved all of that 'more'.

He kissed down her chin and buried his face at her neck, sucking and nipping at her skin; he grazed his teeth over her collar bones in the same moment he slid his hands down and cupped her ass, squeezing, guiding her hips so she was moving down against the revealing bulge in his jeans. The pressure felt nice, but it wasn't enough. Still, she liked the way he pushed up against her; she just wished there were less clothes between them and he would sink his cock inside her.

She let out a whimper at the visual her mind drew up to torture her. As if he knew, he pressed even harder between her legs; the seam of her jeans pressed against her clit in a teasingly cruel way.

Giving up on any sense of modesty or patience, she slid a hand between them and undid the button and zipper on her jeans. She pushed up to her knees and his mouth fell to the tops of her breasts, teeth and lips making quick work of her pale, soft skin.

She shoved her jeans down and his hands pulled until they were under her thighs, bunching just short of her knees. She managed, clumsily, to get them off either leg and threw them away. Having his hands on her bare ass felt much better; calloused fingers kneading, squeezing, teasing.

She gripped his short hair and yanked his head back so she could bury her mouth at his neck and return the marks she knew were littering her skin. He panted, lips swollen, before putting them to work on her shoulder, biting down gently as she slid her hands over the close of his jeans.

"I've seen most of the goods anyway," she said, nipping at his chin. "I promise, if you want to keep your virtue for another night, I won't tarnish it." She winked, unbuttoning him. "But we can still have a little fun, right?" She lowered the zipper. "Agent?"

He maneuvered her down against the couch, flat on her back, knees spread, cradling him. Her hands fell to his waist to steady herself, surprised by the sudden movement. He took them from where they were pressed tight against his hips and, using one of his own, pinned them above her head. "No touching; at least not until I say so," he told her, before his lips were moving down her chest again.

It took her a minute —she deserved a little credit since it was hard to think straight when those lips closed around a nipple through the fabric of her bra— but she finally realized why it seemed familiar. He was doing to her what she told him she was doing to Jane in the fantasy they'd created.

He tugged her bra out of the way and kneaded her ignored breast in his palm, swiping his thumb over her pebbled nipple, dragging the edge of his nail over her areola. She arched up, hands twitching; she almost reached for him, wanting to grip and pull at his hair, before suddenly stopping and letting her hands fall back against the couch cushion.

He made his way down,  _down_ , kissing around her belly button, nipping lightly as he made a trail to the very edge of her underwear. He traced them with one finger, licking a line down from her navel and blowing cold air onto it.

She swallowed tightly, watching him as he went.

He shimmied down the couch and took one of her legs, pulling it over his shoulder. He turned his head to kiss and suck at the skin of her inner-thigh, his fingers curling, tickling the back of her knee. His hand splayed out over the thin scrap of her underwear, his thumb rubbing back and forth, directly over where the patch of trimmed hair lay beneath.

He kissed his way up her leg and dragged his tongue over the crease of where it met her hip, nosing her thong out of the way, teeth teasing over sensitive skin. She was so aware of him she could feel her clit throbbing at any and all attention. Her bottom lip tweaked with pain as she bit down on it hard.

He slid his hand under her leg and wrapped it around the fabric of her underwear sitting low on her hip.

"I've thought about this," he told her.

She stared at him, her eyes half-lidded. "When I thought about it, your tongue was busy elsewhere."

He grinned. "You were this bossy in my head too."

She winked. "Glad I'm living up to the dream."

He turned his head and dropped his chin down against the triangle of fabric covering her; she wondered if he could feel how wet she was, if she'd soaked through. He rubbed his chin back and forth. "I can smell you…" His thumb slid over the crease at her thigh. He reached up to tuck her bra under her other breast too and took a moment to pinch and tug at her nipple. "I wonder if you'll scream as loud as you did in my head," he said, brow furrowed with thought.

She didn't have time to give him a snarky reply before his lips closed around her clit through her underwear.

Her hips jerked.

He held her down with a hand flat over her stomach, thumb circling her belly button.

He flicked his tongue side to side a few times before he tore the hip of her underwear and simply folded the now ruined thong out of the way. And then his tongue was on her, dipping between her folds, suckling them, teeth gently grazing. He explored her labia like a man on a mission; teasing them apart, searching out what made her move, grunt, gasp. At random, never creating an exact pattern, he would swirl up and suck or circle her clit, tugging on with his teeth or lips, before moving away, keeping her on the edge of relief.

She felt a warm heat flash over her skin and she knew she'd gone from a pale white to a flushed pink, verging on bright, unflattering red. Her fingers dug into the couch cushion behind her as he slid his hand down and sunk one, then two fingers inside her.

She moaned, her head thrown back, and dragged the heel of her foot down his back before digging it into the left cheek of his ass in a not so subtle instruction to stop teasing.

He chuckled against her, the vibrations doing insane things.

"Oh fuck,  _fuckfuckfuck_ …" She shook her head. "You need to make me come or I'm just going to reach down and do it myself." Her arms moved.

"Against the rules," he argued.

She stilled. "Power trip's should not be hot," she told him, rolling her eyes. "Fact, outside of bed, I don't take orders."

"Technically we're not in a bed," he reminded, licking a long strip across her slit.

" _Hnng_ …"

He climbed up her body then, kissing as he went, and she wasn't sure if she should be disappointed or not. But then he was sucking her nipple and his teeth were gently working around the edge. His fingers slid inside her again and set a slow, shallow pace, while he mouthed kisses up her chest, suckling her neck, before his mouth teased the edge of hers. He pressed his thumb down against her clit and started plunging his fingers in faster, deeper.

"Look at me, Darcy," he told her.

Her eyes opened; she wasn't even sure when she'd closed them.

She stared at him, the intense focus on his face, the strain of his features, the way his lips and chin still shone with her. She leaned up and kissed him, sucking his tongue. He slid his free hand up one of her arms, smoothing along her forearm softly, enough that it made her shiver, before he took her hand and drew it down, settling it on the back of his neck.

Her fingers gripped his hair.

His fingers were fucking her now, silently letting her know this time she would come, this time he wouldn't stop. He teased her nipple with his other hand and kissed her bottom lip with the kind of patience she imagined he would dedicate a whole morning to. When there wasn't the urgency of needing that climax, but instead hours to just explore and learn each other, laughing, feeling beyond comfortable with each other.

It was the idea that they would have that —that he would be spending more time in her bed, between her sheets, her legs, inside her, slow and steady, kissing everywhere, from the backs of her knees to the nape of her neck and down again, down, down, to the curves of her ankles and the tops of her feet— that sent her over the edge.

She cried out against his mouth, her lips parted on a sharp gasp that became his name. She never closed her eyes, watching his instead, how they darkened and sharpened, how they seemed to memorize every inch of her expression in that moment. And then she was coming back down and his fingers slid away, wiping on her thigh before settling on her stomach. He propped himself up on one arm and just watched her as she panted, a lazy smile curving her lips.

It was a few minutes before she could reach for him, cupping him through his jeans, not at all surprised by how rock hard he was. Steel she could associate with him; originally with the unbending agent she'd first met and now with the very real man she'd found underneath the shield. But while she was thinking of all the ways she could enjoy this version of steel, from her hands to her mouth to taking him inside her, he was shaking his head.

He ducked down to kiss her, like he was trying to take the sting out of his rejection, and admittedly it was a little distracting; both the taste of herself still lingering on him and just the appeal of his lips slanting across hers.

"Tonight was about you," he said, gently biting her top lip.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

He reached down, hiking her leg over his hip and let his fingers wander down the back of her thigh, tracing circles. "We've got plenty of time before I have to leave."

"A week," she argued.

"Six days now."

Her lips pursed but then she shook it off; she didn't like reality harshing on her orgasm. "I can do a lot in six days," she said decisively.

He grinned and kissed her temple. "I have no doubt."

And besides, she told herself, there was no guarantee that after he returned to work and his other many pet projects, she would be taken off SHIELD's watch-list and allowed to go home; it could be months. Months in which he visited,  _often_.

Eventually, he climbed off her, pants loose on his hips, shirt askew, hair looking rumpled. It was a good look on him; flushed skin and swollen lips, looking just short of thoroughly fucked. What he would look like after he really was, after she'd spent a few hours making him scream and squirm, that was what made her squeeze her thighs together. Oh, she planned to get very familiar with him in the next week. She was almost hoping she wouldn't get to go home too soon.

Reaching down, he picked her up and hauled her, admittedly, limp as a noodle body into his arms and carried her down the hall to her bedroom. He seemed fond of doing that, actually.

"I'm not Ariel; my land legs are working just fine," she assured, because helpless princess she was not. But in reality, she didn't really protest. If she were being honest, it was kind of totally hot.

"Are you really going to tell me your legs don't feel like Jell-O?" he asked, eyebrow quirked, masculine pride obvious.

"Cherry topped with whipped cream," she returned.

He smiled down at her, amused.

He dropped her on the bed, high enough up that she bounced a little. His mouth twitched and she rolled her eyes. Sitting up, she stripped off her bra, threw it in the general direction of the laundry basket, and then fell back, sprawled, naked, stretching her toes down to the end of the bed. And he didn't even need prompting before he stripped down to his underwear again and climbed in next to her, taking up the same position as the night before, spooned up against her back.

Only this time, with less clothes, everything felt even more intimate. His bare chest against her back, his hand just under her breasts.

"As first date goes," he said, nuzzling her hair out of the way and kissing her shoulder, "I think we earned a shining endorsement."

"Medals all around," she declared, waving a hand. "We'll have a press conference tomorrow to inform the public about your dexterity."

He chuckled deeply. "Somehow I don't think my superiors would appreciate the coverage."

She shrugged. "Just doing the women of America a favor…" She frowned. "Or I'm rubbing it in their faces, I'm not sure yet.  _To be announced!_ "

He nipped at her skin lightly. "Breakfast tomorrow?"

"Steak and eggs," she said, nodding, her eyes falling closed.

"Miss Lewis?" he said, in that formal voice of his that made her smile.

She snuggled further into him. "Hm?"

"If you're free tomorrow night, I'd like to take you on another date."

She felt his thumb turn up and swipe the underside of her boob; she bit her lip.

"You're on."

"Great. I'll pick you up from work, deliver you home, and then pick you up again at seven."

"I really don't think anybody's going to snatch me up between her and the lab," she argued.

He sighed lightly. "Humor me."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine… But only because you rocked my world... And also because you own cowboy boots and that just makes you doubly hot."

He chuckled under his breath. "I'll keep that in mind."

Satisfied, Darcy covered his hand, tracing his knuckles, and fell asleep wondering if she'd get to return the favor of rocking his world tomorrow night. She had a few ideas in mind and was looking forward to putting them in motion. If he thought he'd cornered the market on sexual favors, he was wrong; Darcy Lewis was going to make sure her name was tattooed on his brain, synonymous with incredible sex.


End file.
